Poems of Arda
by Shipwright's Trick
Summary: A collection of LotR-related poems that I've written. They all may very well be awful, I don't know, but I think we'll find out.
1. Aragorn's Choice

A/N: This is a collection of all my LotR-related poetry. There's a good chance that every last poem I intend to ever post is completely awful, but hey. I live to take risks! I live to be flamed and/or criticized (not to mention that the latter is very helpful)! I offer up my ego for your degeneration and venting purposes! : )

I also won't be producing a new one on any frequent basis, because my poetry gets really bad (worse than it may already be) when forced. Feel free to leave suggestions, though, and perhaps I'll be inspired.

Here is a universal disclaimer for you. This applies to any poems posted in this collection:

I do not own Lord of the Rings, its characters, its lovely soundtrack, or its places. No profit whatsoever is being made. I also do not own any of the other various songs that I listen to and then incorporate into my poems in any way, shape, or form.

Many of the poems (at least the ones I have written so far) were created while I was listening to music, which will be announced at the beginning of the poem if applicable, so if you choose to go for the full experience, you can listen to the designated music while you read.

Now, as for this poem: If the second-to-last stanza is a little off-kilter, I apologize; the original version did not take into account the fact that Arwen and Aragorn had daughters, and I fixed it. Or perhaps one could say that I tried to fix it... Thanks to Larner for pointing out my mistake!

And now, without further ado, I give you poem Number One! (Titled, as you may have noticed, "Aragorn's Choice.")

- ~ -

They've passed on now,  
long ago, while I linger here still,  
growing old and gray  
'til death takes me some day.

Few now remain from the years of before,  
from those times when I was most glad.  
Those years now are the days of yore,  
when little in life could be sad.

But now most of those who had made my life joyous  
have passed on to what lies ahead.  
And next I know it will be me-  
one day soon I'll be dead.

Would it not be better, then,  
to leave Arda on my own?  
There is no longer much purpose here,  
when so many loved ones have flown.

Though my wife and my son I will still leave behind,  
my son will make a fine king, and  
enough have left for that other land, mind,  
that I won't be alone in the end.

And one day not too soon after I die,  
I think that my wife will then join me,  
and a while will pass, and my children will come too,  
and we'll be together, or so I plea.

So, yes, I think that my time has now come;  
I will leave very soon if I can.  
After all, it's only another adventure  
to a distant and unknown new land.


	2. Faramir's Torture

A/N: This poem isn't in rhyme, so perhaps it's better than the previous one...? Well, here's hoping, in any event.

I wrote this to follow the patterns of the song Requiem for a Dream. Everything's music with me.

- ~ -

Rippling heat, and foul crooning voices that sing of dark magic and terror,  
low and deep, whispering words of warning and fear,  
a strange feeling of foreboding in this terrible new-old  
half-real-half-false  
world of darkness, despair, death-  
dark brilliance lighting up the senses, brightening the world with danger,  
and my heart beats loudly in my chest.  
A stalking presence just behind me-  
There! There! There-!  
And each time I glance, it flees, is gone, and then returns.  
I begin to walk, fleeing but slowly,  
preserving my strength for some later challenge, I realize unconsciously, and  
not knowing where I go, but knowing  
that I have to move-  
move or die.  
Those are my choices.  
I am trapped in this semblance for eternity-  
or is it just minutes?  
And then everything fades away,  
to be replaced by a fiendish hunt, a cunning trap- I am being chased.  
I can feel it.  
First we move slowly, drivers and driven,  
but then the monsters pick up pace, and I must as well,  
or be caught. Caught-  
a ghost choir is muttering behind me now, growing slowly in number and volume-  
and then I flee faster,  
running, headlong, stumbling, seeking some haven in the foulness,  
past memories of evil, and darkness, and carrion flash by me, just enough to chill me to the bone.  
Foul sickness I feel in my living flesh, and great heat and cold mixed, and a deep, smothering darkness-  
lightning flashes. My life flashes, all the brighter, for a moment,  
then fades down into darkness once more.  
My last stand.  
I cannot run much longer-  
then things stop again, and for a moment, light holds the darkness back,  
and there is another man with me in this accursed place.  
There is music reaching from some far off place-  
he is beckoning urgently, and I follow quickly, sensing, somehow, that he is good.  
There is a wholesome light about him, that shines like starlight- starlight!  
What a foreign, forgotten thing, the coolness of those silvery night lamps!  
He looks like someone I know- but who?  
We walk at first, while the man's light pulses brightly, but-  
slowly the danger rises again, and the man's light fades, and he gasps in pain and the  
ever-present possibility of defeat.  
The ghost choir starts again, whispering  
-run_- _run- run- run- run-  
urging- pleading? – commanding- run- run-  
The monsters taunt me again, and the man's presence holds them back no longer.  
We begin to run, moving with mindless panic, our hearts and lungs and heads throbbing-  
on and on-  
through dark, unlit places of foul being, back into mere shadow, into darkness once more-  
I trip on some unseen obstacle, fall-  
the man sees, hears, stops,  
comes back for me, and I try to tell him  
-save yourself- save yourself-  
but he pulls me to my feet, his grip strong and unflinching despite his weary face,  
and we continue.  
I gasp, feeling myself giving into the darkness,  
my life being sucked away by something much stronger than I-  
and the man's grip tightens.  
- I will not let you go-  
he holds me up as we stumble through fire-  
and the demons, catching at us-  
and the mad laughter of someone I once knew-  
no hope, no hope, no hope-  
towards a faint glimmer of light on the horizon, where the dawn should be-  
and it grows slowly larger.  
Too slowly.  
We are running out of time, and the monsters are right behind us, reaching for me with  
burning hands of darkness and pain-  
but we are somehow at the light, and without hesitation,  
the man pushes me through, and I half jump,  
and I glance over my shoulder to see him following.

I awake.


	3. End of Days

Today we go  
to war, to death,  
to oaths fulfilled,  
and promises kept,  
to evil's reign,  
to end of days,  
with hope  
that slowly, surely fades.  
Ride now to ruin,  
and to world's end!

Yet fear not the shadow,  
fear not death-  
for here at what seems  
the end of all things,  
newfound hope  
the morning brings.  
And at the rising  
of the sun,  
victory, at last,  
for Men is won.  
Then crowned is the king  
within whose eyes  
shines the light of those  
who never die. 

Now all have reached  
their journey's end,  
but some wounds there are  
that time can't mend.  
So sail from grey shores  
under darkening skies  
to a far green country  
with a swift sunrise...


End file.
